


My Way or the Highway

by Control_Room



Series: Tortured Tales [3]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: (oral) sexual references, Assault, Bad Parenting, Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Forced to knees, Gen, Guns, Held at Gunpoint, Inappropriate Parenting, Physical Abuse, Psychological Child Abuse, inappropriate language and punishments, inappropriate punishments, weaponizing fear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Paul sees it fit to teach his stepson a lesson.
Relationships: Joey Drew & Rico Drew
Series: Tortured Tales [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023520
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	My Way or the Highway

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: this has extremely sensitive content! please be careful!  
> 

Johan always forgot the sting of a slap. 

Maybe that was why he misbehaved.

Maybe that was why he was a trouble child.

Because he could not learn his lesson. 

Paul grabbed him by his arm now that he was dazed, his nose already bleeding from that one hit across his face - there was something broken in his vessels there, he could vaguely recall his father telling him, and that was why it burst so easily into becoming a bloody mess. 

“You always think you can get away from doing your job,” Paul sighed, even as Johan struggled in his grip, tripping and stumbling. “Well, when the little bundle of _joy_ arrives, you’re not getting out of this any easier. I was thinking about converting you into a cute little honey trap, but you don’t have the skills or the guts. You couldn’t kill a person if you hated them with all your heart. Hell, you can’t even fight back against me.”

“I d-didn’t mean t-to offend you, sir,” Joey gasped as his elbow banged a doorway, whimpering as Paul kicked the back of his calf to hurry him up. “I had m-merely th-thought that you already had that m-model shotgun, I d-didn’t know I had to clean it-”

“Close your mouth, Ramirez,” Paul smiled softly, closing Johan’s mouth for him, before ramming his heel onto the back of Joey’s knee, making him drop down with a grunt. “Well, you might want to open it. You’re going to do your job, and do it well. Stay still like a good boy now.”

Johan trembled as Paul walked behind him, relaxing slightly when he heard him move past him, but froze even more when he heard the tell tale cocking of the aforementioned shotgun, his breathing picking up pace in panic. 

“Don’t worry, I will unload it soon,” Paul’s assuring voice only made Johan’s hackles rise. He sat himself in a longback chair in front of Joey, looking over the shaking teenager. “Tell me, do you know what a honey trap is, Joey?”

“N-no sir,” Johan struggled to keep the stutter out of his voice and still failed. “A sticky surface in which t-to catch insects?”

“Close,” Paul almost seemed to praise him, if not for the dangerous and maniac glint in his cruel eyes. “Except it’s a person, and insects are other people. Honey referring to something too good to be true. Someone attractive, sensual, and easily gaining the hearts of others.”

“Uh,” Joey processed it, trying to understand what Paul wanted from him, and it clicked. He flinched back, upset all the more, disturbed to his very core, curling inwards to fight the cold sensation that started in his sternum and siphoned out to his ribs. “I’m no assassin, nor am I g-going to put myself at risk for what _you_ did to me.”

Johan gasped as the gun touched the top of his throat gently. It moved as he swallowed.

“I did not unload it yet,” Paul informed him. “We’re going to see how good of a honey trap you could have been. Now,” he tapped Joey’s pin with the end of the barrel, “You should know how to suck.”

“E-excuse me? S… Suck?” Joey exhaled in a repeat, shocked, his face twisting into a grimace in his fear and discomfort. His leg was starting to burn from his kneel. “N-no, I d-don’t, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t fool anyone with the innocent act,” Paul shook his head with a tsk. “Surely you’ve given head before in the back of the school.”

“Sir, I regret? I th-think? to inform you that I have n-no idea what you’re saying,” Joey reiterated, eyes wide and bewildered, confusing mingling with unease and creating a perturbed miasma that clung to his throat and made his voice higher. “I stick t-to myself at school, and… have not g-given my head away?”

“You’ve never given anyone a blowjob?” Paul was surprised when Joey turned dark red and shook his head, recoiling. “Well, get ready for some practice then. The ladies and gents love it. Find a way into their bed and then you’ve got a bank account under their name. Bequeathments can come after. Now then….”

“Y-you’re not g-gonna make me,” Johan shook terribly, terrified. “N-not gonna make me-”

“No, no, I would not dream of it,” he promised. “I give you my word on that. No, you’re going to practice with the gun.”

The cold Johan had been fighting against sped through each of his limbs, warning for danger and screaming for him to run. But he was not the one with the gun, no, he was not, so instead the stress and anxiety poured into his head, causing his nosebleed to drip faster, his ears drooping and tilting back, his teeth biting his own lip, drawing in a shaky breath as a tear slipped out of his fearful open eye.

“D-don’t make me do this,” Joey pleaded quietly as he cried, feeling disgusted - with Paul, with the gun, with his tears, with himself, with everything. He desperately wished he was somewhere, anywhere else. “Please, d-don’t make me do this.” 

The gun pressed against his lips, warmed by the heat of his throat. His breathing hitched, crying harder. 

“Open up. Don’t you forget I didn’t unload it yet.”

“Please,” Johan begged again with grit teeth. “P-Please.”

There was a bang, and Joey jolted, carefully monitored breathing turning into hyperventilating, a bullet hole in the floor not two inches away from his knee. 

“There’s still one more bullet,” Paul reminded him, the warning sounding sickly sweet, making Johan’s stomach turn over and over until he felt as though it would never disentangle and he would never eat again without throwing up. “So, you better listen to orders. Open. Your. Mouth. Maybe this will clean that stupid stutter from it.”

Johan sobbed as he did what Paul told him to do. The gun was still frightfully cold on the outside and hot towards the center, making him keep his tongue away for fear of burning it. He was frozen, without any idea of what to do and not wishing to inquire for instruction. Hot shame pulsed through him, entwining with the cold fear, and he shook where he knelt.

“Go on, move your head,” Paul informed him. “Use your tongue. I expect the barrel to be clean.”

Joey gagged at the taste of the metal and gunpowder. Still, he fought through the hate and disgust and forced himself to take into account the other’s words, following his direction. It scraped the roof of his mouth and made him gag again, his entire body convulsing with the sheer amount of _wrong_ the situation brought. 

“Along the sides, too,” Paul drawled. Joey shuddered, and did as he was told, the cold metal stinging his mouth and feeling icy hot against his tongue. “Don’t you dare let your teeth scratch it, or there will be more than hell to pay.”

A whine broke from his throat, trembling and hurt. He kept his mouth on the killing device, as each time he moved away, Paul hit it gently on the side of his neck - a warning. 

He let his mind drift. Far away, into a world of oceanic mystery and the rays of sunshine seeping into the dark blue mass. His breathing calmed, his heart slowed. Before long he was gone, the awful taste on his mouth blotted out by encompassing salt water, pulling slowly.

“What the _hell_ is going on?!” Johan jolted out of his pipe dream as Rico stormed over. Rico carefully pulled him to his feet, glaring at Paul. “I don’t want to hear any excuses, I’m going to hear it from Jo once he’s able to talk. Don’t say a word.”

Johan was numbly taken out of the room, unaware of anything going on aside from the relief flooding his system. He was seated on his bed, and in a daze, he looked around. No water, and he was so thirsty. 

He swallowed, about to ask whoever was in the room with him for something to drink, preferably something that would knock him out in a matter of moments. His gaze fell on Rico, and he swallowed again, and again, and again, and then the sobbing started. 

Joey felt himself get wrapped in a hug, and he hugged back, crying even harder, a wail ripping its path through his throat and finding its way to open air. His keening howls reverberated through the whole of the estate, stress and agony whispering for help. When his throat collapsed from the treatment it had been put through, he turned to shaking and weeping silently in Rico’s hold.

“H-help me,” he whimpered, hoarse. “Please, Ricky, help me… help me….”

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you,” Rico murmured, rubbing circles on his step brother’s back and wishing for avengeance in his heart. “I have something for you, but I need your help to get it all set up.”

“What is it-t?” Johan inquired, teeth chattering. Rico reached into his pocket and pulled out a chain lock and heavy duty nails. Joey felt himself tear up again, this time in gratitude, wrapping Rico into a hug once more. “Thank you, thank you….”

“I’ll get the electric screwdriver,” Rico said, trailing off at the look of panic in Johan’s eyes. “You can come with me if you want to.”

“Yes, p-please,” Joey mumbled, clinging to his arm. Rico nodded and began leading the way. Soon they were back in Johan’s room, and he plugged in the wire. They made short work of installing the lock, and once it was finished, Johan felt as though a weight was removed from his chest. He sank against the wall, burying his head in his arms and knees. “Oh, h-hell….”

“Are you… uh, not terrible?” Rico asked, putting a hand out to place on Johan’s shoulder. Joey replied by wrapping him into a limb shattering hug. “Oof!”

“Thank you,” Joey whispered. Rico stilled. “Thank y-you. You saved my fucking life, man. Thank you….”

“I wish I could get you out of here,” Rico muttered, muscle lined arms giving the lankier a squeeze. “Take you somewhere safe.”

“I wish that could happen, too,” Johan admitted, though it was stating the obvious. He chuckled. “Can you imagine me l-living in like, New York City?”

“You, country boy? NYC?” Rico snorted. “It’s an unbelievable thought. But not unreasonable.”

“Exactly,” Johan looked at him with determination in his eyes. “I’m gonna move out there. Little by l-little. To get the hell out of this damn hellhole.”

“That would be nice,” Rico commentted, leaning back. He pulled two bottles of sweet tea out of the tool chest, handing one to Joey. “Cheers, kid.” 

“Thanks,” Joey wet his throat with the liquid. “It really means a lot t-to me….”

“What, a bottle of tea?” Rico joked. Joey leaned his head on his shoulder.

“I love you, R-Rico,” Johan sniffed. Rico hugged him over the shoulder, “I love you too.”

“Hey, do you have that record of the Memphis Five?” Rico asked after a moment of silence. “Or some Armstrong? I know you’ve got a player hidden in here somewhere.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joey said as he set it up. They both relaxed as the smooth jazz washed over them, Johan letting out a breath he did not know he was holding. “Holy fuck, today’s been t-too long.”

“You said it,” Rico rose his bottle and took a swig. “Jesus. And to think that he thought he had the right to do that. I’d get a restraining order to serve to him if I could.”

“I wish Madre w-would put some of her connections to use and just, y’know,” Johan shrugged. “Leave him. Or m-make him leave us alone. But he d-doesn’t act so bad around her, and gets her to join in.”

“We have each other,” Rico pointed out. Johan smiled, “That we do.” 


End file.
